A Knight In Gotham
by Manchester
Summary: Xander is not thrilled the slightest about visiting a city whose self-professed guardian is a guy dressing up in skintight black leather as a flying rodent. For Bob Kane and Bill Finger fans with a sense of humor (there must be some, right?).


* _Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid,_ * Xander Harris mockingly quoted inside his head.

Automatically showing off all the while his best don't-mess-with-me-dude swagger the result of surviving a California hometown a hundred times more dangerous than this place, Xander continued his mental recitation while strolling down the cracked sidewalk set by the deserted avenue several hours after sunset:

* _He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor-by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world._

 _He will take no man's money dishonestly and no man's insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry that you ever saw him._

 _The story is this man's adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in._ *

Rewarding himself for successfully doing that Raymond Chandler quote word-for-word, a nonchalant Xander lifted up his left hand and did a quick polishing rub of the ring he was wearing there against his shirtfront. He next wryly admired the blocky bit of clear quartz set as the main jewel of that ancient ring, before letting his hand drop down at his side. At no part of this did Xander stop walking up the street on his way to the gas station which he'd been told was the only safe place in the local neighborhood where a called taxi would come after dark.

Shooting a disgusted glance around at the mass of decaying apartment and shop buildings surrounding him, Xander couldn't see what the big deal was. Yeah, this was a slum, and so what? Sunnydale had been filled with neat homes, freshly paved streets, and pristine shopping centers, but you took your life in your hands every single time venturing outside when the sun went down. Behind every bush or building corner at the Hellmouth, there was the almost certain likelihood of a vampire or some other demon waiting to rip out your throat and drink their victim's blood to the last drop.

So far in the couple of hours he'd been in Gotham, Xander wasn't feeling that specific mood. Sure, in his taxi ride at late afternoon from the airport to the pawnshop holding what the New Council troubleshooter was after, Xander had seen this was a really crummy place to live.

Still not all that dangerous though, even with the cabbie filling Xander's ears along the way about the latest atrocity committed by the Joker, Two-Face, or some other theme villain. Just as boring had been that driver's boasting over how some guy in a bat costume thwarted those baddies from carrying out their latest bout of wickedness involving giant stage props (who really needed a fifty-foot-wide typewriter, anyway?) and this Bat-Fella pummeling everyone in sight.

Frankly, after the dozenth apocalypse since Sunnydale's collapse, Xander had become mostly jaded regarding mere human evil. It'd been a genuine relief to be let out at the Gotham pawnshop and go inside to begin haggling over the mystical doo-dad Xander was here for in the first place.

Lifting his left hand again, Xander quizzically eyed the clunky ring he was wearing. All that money authorized by Giles, and it didn't even look the least bit expensive. He'd seen spiffier Cracker-Jack prizes, honestly. That hunk of transparent stone hadn't even come with a jewelry box at the conclusion of their transaction in the loan store a few minutes before. The pawnshop proprietor just shoved it in Xander's direction over the store counter and then got busy counting the entire wad of cash paid for what the man with an eyepatch had a growing suspicion to be nothing more than a bogus supernatural trinket.

Wondering if Giles was going to accept the excuse later on that it was exactly what Xander had been ordered to get and not yell at him for being cheated somehow, a grumpy New Council representative started to put away the ring in his pants pocket. Without looking up from the money he was greedily riffling through, the pawnbroker muttered in a disinterested growl that it'd be a lot safer for his latest customer to wear it from now on. Wouldn't do for it to get lost or have it stolen, see? No refunds, mister.

Still in the pawnshop then, Xander glowered at the other guy for a few moments, only to resignedly shrug and admit to himself that dude had a good point. Without thinking about it, Xander slid the ring onto his left ring finger. It fit there perfectly, almost as if made for him.

An abrupt, muffled snicker of mirth from the pawnbroker made Xander sharply stare at the proprietor innocently gazing back at him. Giving a casual wave of his hand at the darkened front shop windows where night had just fallen outside, this shop owner then advised Xander where to go a few blocks over to get another cab so he could catch the next flight out of Gotham to Cleveland.

Following these directions, Xander continued to examine the ring around his finger. At that point, he walked under one of the rare streetlights with a working lamp in this rough neighborhood, striding into a cone of illumination. There was a sudden glittering flash of reflected light from the surface of the quartz stone, causing Xander to blink in his dazzled vision.

The shabby apartment building straight ahead of where Xander was walking was built in the late 1920's just before the stock market crash (also presumably the last time ever that anyone bothered to maintain the place). Its architect was obsessed with the Gothic Art Deco style common to Gotham City back then, so there was no wonder why that residence had as multiple decorations on the outer floor ledges numerous gargoyle drainage spouts plus carved statutes representating industry and finance, not to mention an overabudance of pigeons which for generations had nested in between the building decorations.

At the highest floor's roof ledge, one statue turned their head to stare down at the street level below. Attracted by the unexpected gleam of light seen from out of the corner of their eye, a man clad in a costume of midnight hue with various pointy bits jutting out from all over watched how another adult male traveling along the sidewalk with absolute unconcern also flaunted an extremely large jeweled ring at the same time.

Instantly deciding that whoever this person was had to be up to no good this evening and needed to be thoroughly interrogated in the closest dark alley, The Batman reached for his Bat-Grapple hanging from his Bat-Utility Belt while taking a step to the left in his Bat-Booties-

Disturbed by a size fourteen brogan stomping square into their midst, a flock of pigeons napping on the ledge a moment ago then burst out fluttering from underneath The Batman. Using all the powers of concentration he'd learning studying from an ancient lama in a Himalayan temple, The Batman ignored these birds flying away and upwards from him, to next clustering together in a large pigeon swam circling several yards directly above The Batman. There was absolutely no training which could allow anyone to ignore what next occurred, though…

As if obeying an identical order, each and every pigeon evacuated their bowels to the very last molecule of well-refined avian guano. Right onto The Batman's cowl.

"Yahhh!" a suddenly blind costumed avenger of the night yelped, reeling backwards to keep from falling off the roof while frantically wiping away the dripping liquid flowing down his mask. Staring down at what his hands were now covered with, The Batman shuddered at the mess there. Squatting down upon the roof, Gotham's protector scraped off most of the bird crap onto the tar paper there. Only then did this black-garbed hero reach for the Bat-Wipes hidden in one pocket of his belt to finish cleaning the rest of his costume.

After scrubbing away industriously at everywhere he could reach with the disinfectant wipes, The Batman took out from another pocket a tiny mirror on a telescoping rod he normally used for peeking around corners. This time, however, a more important application was made to make sure his costume was again spotless. A few more seconds were occupied by The Batman in admiring his ass in the snuggest tights he could comfortably wear with no panty lines. Now, that was one _fine_ booty, if he said so himself.

Abruptly remembering who he'd been about to question about acting like an person of interest to the lawful authorities, The Batman returned the mirror to his belt and then rushed back to the edge of the floor ledge.

Yes, that guy was still walking down the street, but he was currently approaching the spot where the road ended at a now-closed Chinese restaurant, only to make an L-shaped turn to the right and continue on past the alley next to the restaurant. Good! The next building beyond had a flagpole that The Batman knew very well in swinging around Gotham.

Use his Bat-Grapple on that flagpole, and he could swoop in a big curve around the building to then pounce from out of the air onto that unaware criminal. That'd properly terrorize the punk who wouldn't put up any resistance over being dragged into the nearest shadow and swiftly made to confess everything by lots and lots of hitsies from The Batman.

Eagerly nodding his head in anticipation of a good night's exercise to make him sleep soundly after Alfred tucked Master Bruce away in bed with a hot mug of Ovaltine, The Batman pulled out his Bat-Grapple and got ready by striking a properly dramatic pose for a few seconds. Pressing the necessary button on the grapple's stock then made the hooked ends connected by a thin but extremely strong steel cable shoot out to loop and then clamp onto the point where the opposite building's flagpole attached to that structure's brickwork.

The Batman next leapt off the apartment building ledge and held onto the grapple throughout the course of swinging down and then upwards. Judging everything with exquisite skill, this master of acrobatics started to pivot his body around at the exact moment of his highest gain in altitude, where he'd then face the street where his prey would be traveling. An instant release of the grapple would have its cable automatically retract onto the flagpole to be picked up later. In the meantime, The Batman would use his cape as a parachute to spectacularly float down and land with both feet right onto that oblivious felon!

A prompt change of plans took place instead, when under the strain of a 200-lb. exquisitely muscled form pulling hard upon it through a tightly clamped grapple, the flagpole's base got yanked free from the brickwork as if it'd been a pulled tooth.

"Eh?" frowned Xander, stopping short on the sidewalk. He turned around to see nothing interesting now back where the street had changed direction. What he'd _heard,_ though, had been really weird.

In order: there was a muffled crunching sound, the cut-off panicky yell of someone, a swishing noise of a bulky object sailing through the air, another sound of something both soft and firm thudding hard into a flat surface, and a much louder clatter of a metallic item rattling against a set of galvanized garbage cans. All of this strange combined racket had come from the alley back there-

"Oh, yeah, somebody dumping their trash," Xander said out loud, satisfied by his sudden realization. Losing any further interest, this man turned back around and again commenced towards his destination in sight at the next block beyond, the gas station there.

Blearily staring directly upwards from where he was lying on his back in the filthy alleyway, The Batman permitted himself a quick whimper of distress from colliding face-first about a dozen feet high into the Chinese restaurant's back wall and then sliding down that durable partition. At length getting back up onto his feet, this hero soon had his double vision diminish into being able to see normally again. He'd landed in the restaurant loading dock which was cut off by a high wooden fence from the alley beyond leading out to the street.

The street…where his prey was getting away! That had to be it, all the trouble he was having tonight! Somehow, one of his enemies had set up an ambush to make The Batman act so clumsily and experience all the other ludicrous events tonight! Well, they'd pay in full for that!

Straightening up in his sudden wrath, cape furling vividly around his legs, The Batman dashed towards the wood fence. He didn't bother with the gate, just jumping up and grabbing the top of the attached upper planks. A swift surge of arm muscles propelled the hero also performing a front somersault entirely over the fence. In the very next instant, The Batman uncurled his body to land lightly on his feet in the alley floor past the fence.

Except, instead of that happening, The Batman plunged with flawless accuracy through the open sewer manhole set in the alley just before the wood fence, not even brushing the circular metal rim with any part of his costume.

A second later, a column of mucky, reeking sewage erupted from the manhole, soaking the entire alley floor including the heavy detachable cover carelessly cast aside which rested by the open cavity.

Next came from underneath a furious roar, "BATMAN! YOU BASTARD, CAN'T SOMEONE EAT IN PEACE WITHOUT YOU BOTHERING THEM!?"

That produced from belowground, drifting upwards into the alley air, "Killer Croc! I should've know you were responsible- OOOF!"

That abrupt interruption was caused by the sound of a clawed fist the size of a bowling ball and much tougher smashing into an armored costume.

Several blocks away about a minute or so later, Xander Harris glanced around at the other customers at the gas station filling up their cars and getting snacks from the late-night convenience store inside. None of them seemed to be paying any attention at all to the bizarre sounds coming from the water drainage slit cut into the curb across the street. From his own experiences in Africa, though, Xander recognized at once the sounds of an angry crocodile bellowing its displeasure.

Shrugging, Xander then went into the store to get some Twinkies for the road before calling a cab. If all these Gotham dudes were taking for granted the truth here of an urban legend having to do with those pet alligators being flushed down toilets into the sewers when they got to be too much trouble, who was he to chide them?

Instead, Xander lined up inside the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, ready for some of Hostess' finest.

* * *

Back at the alley a little later on:

"UUUUGGGGHHHH!"

"UUUUGGGGHHHH!"

"UUUUGG-!"

The Batman paused in his indecorous loud grunting so not to rupture himself when the immense weight he was hauling up abruptly halted in its path. Gazing down while still holding onto the grapple he'd recovered elsewhere in the alley wrapped around the accompanying flagpole, The Batman grimaced at seeing how an out-cold Killer Croc was now securely jammed inside the manhole opening. Some quick tinkering moments beforehand adjusted his Bat-Grapple into a pulley attached to the alley's opposite walls plus the steel cable had been looped under that mutated villain's armpits. Next had come the necessary lifting with these of Waylon Jones from where he'd been defeated in the sewer below by The Batman. Once Killer Croc was completely free, he'd start his next stint at Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

About that, though… The Batman carefully kept his grip onto the grapple stock while circling around to stand in front of an unconscious half-man/half-reptile with just his scaled head, neck and part of his upper arms sticking out of the manhole. How'd Killer Croc get down there, anyway? He must've squirmed through to drop into the sewer below in the first place, of course. So, this would be tricky, but possible…

Standing a few feet away from the upper portion of Killer Croc jutting up from the manhole and undoubtedly dreaming of outsized portions of kung pao chicken, The Batman let go of the grapple stock with his left hand, while continuing to hold onto with his other hand. Killer Croc stayed where he was, indicating he was stuck fast. Excellent. All The Batman had to do was to bend forward, reach out with his left hand to yank upwards Waylon's right arm, and firmly pull down the grapple, all at the same time. That should shift Killer Croc easily enough, and get him out of the manhole.

The Batman got into the correct position, and then he acted in unison. Yank with the left hand, pull with the right hand-

Under the treads of The Batman's right boot, a still-slippery portion of the alley asphalt caused this footwear to skid less than an inch to the side due to the pressure now put onto it.

That was all it took. A fiery streak of pain blazed up The Batman's entire back as he tore several muscles there, causing him to groan in agony, let go of both the grapple stock and Waylon's arm, and topple forward until the costumed hero's knees landed onto both of Killer Croc's shoulders. Fortunately, this sudden weight didn't send the scaled monster back down into the sewer, but this was the _only_ lucky part of The Batman's whole night.

A bright light from the driver's-side lamp of a passing Gotham Police car then illuminated the entire alley, called in by a phone call concerning some very strange noises coming from there tonight. Parking outside the alley, the two occupants of the cop car stared at where a squatting city myth had his crotch currently pressed right into the face of a monstrous being halfway out of a sewer manhole.

Frozen in utter shock, The Batman didn't move even when the car's lamp went off and a strangled voice came from inside there, "Rookie, there are some things in Gotham you don't talk about, _ever._ This is gonna be one of 'em, understand me?"

"Yes, Sarge! Uh, can I just say, I always thought his outfit looked like a gimp suit?"

"It's been mentioned, kid. Now, we'll leave, and do our best to forget everything, okay? That goes for _all_ of us here, if it really needs to be said."

At that exact point, Killer Croc now beginning to regain a modicum of consciousness but still mostly insensible did a series of loud lip-smacks and slurps accompanied by a bubbling grunt as he returned to dreamland.

The police car promptly peeled out of there, a foot desperately pushing down the accelerator pedal to its maximum.

As for The Batman, he shoved hard with both hands against the top of Waylon's skull, getting free enough to limply collapse onto his side in the alley and once again suffering incredible back pain. Reaching for the Bat-Communicator in his utility belt, this glum hero about to call for Alfred to pick him up in the spare Batmobile wondered just when, why, and how everything had gone wrong for him tonight.

* * *

At the gas station:

"Hey, Giles! Everything went fine, got the doohickey you sent me to collect with no trouble. I just called a cab to the airport and my Cleveland flight should arrive in a few hours for me to put it in the ultra-secure vault right away, so you can quit worrying. Yeah, yeah, the old Council spent centuries looking without any luck for what I paid good cash money a half-hour ago? I really can't figure out all the fuss. It isn't all _that_ impressive! Huh? Sure, I put it on- Stop yelling! Nothing bad happened, so just calm down! Probably some big talker way back when simply made up the whole thing, the story and what the Ring of the Karmic Trickster can do to anyone who pisses off its wearer without them knowing it. All right, see you then. Go have a nice cup of tea and give Dawn a hug for me."

* * *

Author's Note: From TV Tropes, concerning the Karmic Trickster:

A Trickster who specializes in unstuffing stuffed shirts, deflating puffed-up egos, trivializing the self-important, and confusing know-it-alls. The Karmic Trickster is normally harmless, even friendly, if left unmolested. Once his dignity is dented or his person threatened, however, it's no holds barred — the target is in for humiliation, embarrassment and bewilderment. Any tactic is fair game as long as it does not cause actual physical harm to the target. Only when the target has surrendered does the Karmic Trickster conclude his vengeance.


End file.
